But they always could count on one thing.
Nobody had better costumes at Halloween.
This wasn’t the result of an exhaustive search in some metropolitan mall. It was because of one person — their mother.
Sewing, presumably a lost art, is not lost on my wife. Taught by her mom, she is practical and magical with needle and thread.
And when Oct. 31 rolled around, our children reaped what she sewed.
Year after year, the handmade costumes flowed from her assembly line: Dracula, Snow White, Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz, Cleopatra, Austin Powers, Elvis, a mummy, dalmation.
The preparation was stressful. To make deadlines, she sometimes stayed up until 1 or 2 in the morning, stitching, ironing, perfecting.
But the results were worth it.
Recently, my daughter stared at an old Halloween picture, remarking how spooky good she looked in her get-up.
Andrea and her brother will remember those times the rest of their lives. For that, they — and I — are forever grateful.